The Final Circle of Paradise

He didn't say anything and went out, leaving me sitting in my chair, with my hands on the desk. Soon I heard him puttering about in the lilacs under the windows. He rustled, stamped about, muttering something under his breath, and softly exclaimed, talking to himself, "Bring the flags and put them here and here… that's it… that's it… and then I got on a plane and flew away into the mountains." I wondered when he went to bed. It would be all right if it were eight o'clock or even nine; maybe it was a mistake to start all this business with him. I could have locked myself in the bathroom and in two hours I would know everything. But no, I couldn't refuse him – just imagine I was in his place, I thought. But this is not the way; I am catering to his fears, when I should think of something more clever. But try to come up with it – this is no Anyudinsk boarding school. A boarding school this certainly is not, I thought. How different everything is, and what lies ahead of me now, which circle of paradise, I wonder? But if it tickles, I won't be able to stand it! Interesting – the Fishers – they too are a circle of paradise, for sure. The Art Patrons are for the aristocrats of the mind, and the old Subway is for the simpler types, although the Intels are also aristocrats of the mind and they get intoxicated like swine and become totally useless, even they are useless. There is too much hate, not enough love – it's easy to teach hate, but love is hard to teach. But then, love has been too well overdone and slobbered over so it has become passive. How is it that love is always passive and hate always active and is thus always attractive? And then it is said that hate is natural, while love is of the mind and springs from deep thought. It should be worthwhile to have a talk with the Intels, I thought. They can't all be hysterical fools, and what if I should succeed in finding a Man. What in fact is good in man that comes from nature – a pound of gray matter. But this too is not always good, so that he always must start from a naked nothing; maybe it would be good if man could inherit social advances, but then again, Len would now be a small-scale major general. No, better not – better to start from zero. True he would not now be afraid of anything, but instead he would be frightening others – those who weren't major generals.

I was startled to suddenly see Len perched in the branches of the apple tree regarding me fixedly. The next moment he was gone, leaving only the crash of branches and falling apples as an aftermath. He doesn't believe me in the slightest, I thought. He believes nobody. And whom do I believe in this town? I went over everyone I could recall. No, I didn't trust anyone. I picked up the telephone, dialed the Olympic and asked for number 817.

"Hello! Yes?" said Oscar's voice.

I kept quiet, covering the radio with my hand.

"Hello, I'm listening," repeated Oscar irritably. "That's the second time," he said to someone aside. "Hello!… Of course not, what sort of women could I be carrying on with here?" He hung up.

I picked up the Mintz volume, lay down on the couch, and read until twilight. I dearly love Mintz, but I couldn't remember a word I read that day. The evening shift roared by noisily. Aunt Vaina fed Len his supper, stuffing him with hot milk and crackers. Len whimpered and was fretful while she cajoled him gently and patiently. Customs inspector Pete propounded in a commanding yet benevolent tone, "You have to eat, you have to eat, if Mother says eat, you must comply."

Two men of loose character, if one could judge by their voices, came around looking for Vousi and made a play for Aunt Vaina. I thought they were drunk. It was growing dark rapidly.

At eight o'clock the phone in the study rang. I ran barefooted and grabbed the receiver, but no one spoke. As you holler, so it echoes. At eight-ten, there was a knock on the door. I was delighted, expecting Len, but it turned out to be Vousi.

"Why don't you ever come around?" she asked indignantly from the doorway. She was wearing shorts decorated with suggestively winking faces, a tight-fitting sleeveless shirt exposing her navel, and a huge translucent scarf: she was fresh and firm as a ripe apple. To a surfeit.

"I sit and wait for him all day, and all the time he is sacked out here. Does something hurt?"

I got up and stuck my feet into my shoes.

"Have a chair, Vousi." I patted the couch alongside me.

"I am not going to sit by you. Imagine – he is reading.

You could at least offer me a drink."

"In the bar," I said, "How is your sloppy cow?"

"Thank God she was not around today," said Vousi, disappearing in the bar. "Today I drew the mayor's wife. What a moron. Why, she wants to know, doesn't anyone love her?… You want yours with water? Eyes white, face red, and a rear end as wide as a sofa, just like a frog, honest to God. Listen, let's make a polecat, nowadays everybody makes polecats."

"I don't go for doing like everybody."